Paper thin punch holes

It started with a vibration and ended in a fury of reciprocal metal cleaving. The crack was born of high heat and weakness of an almost 3 decade old exhaust pipe. And it wasn’t getting any better. In need of some solo car traveling punishment with friendly faces at the end of the tunnel and a well stocked, smokey machine shop to breath in I packed up the Green Monster and headed down the 5 amidst a downpour hellbent on washing the roads’ stripes off.

Music blasted away any sounds of weaknesses in the integrity of the G-M and keeps me awake, right hand fingers steadily tapping out the beats.

Hello foggy palms and rampant, in-your-face homelessness.

“Here, use my lighter”

Welding wasn’t solving anything

unless we made a patch and with my experience of bending metal I started swearing.

Seven inches shorter and without an internal baffle, which reminded me heavily of a firearm suppressor (cool), my geriatric exhaust was lighter by a few pounds.

“Hey, at least I technically made her faster”

Rattle can black coats and we’re set.

Today: Never thought I’d own something that sounds as weird as my bike does now. But she’s still haul’n ass.